Page 29 of Captive Virgin of the Bratva

I press my palm to my mouth, jaw tight, trying to breathe it out.

She’s everywhere now. In the heat crawling under my skin. In the ache behind my zipper. In the guilt I don’t feel, but know I should.

I want her. Not gentle. Not sweet.

I want her biting, snarling, furious—fighting every inch of it until she forgets how.

I don’t take women I have to tie down. I don’t take what doesn’t want to be taken.

But Elise… Elisewantsto fight, and I’m starting to wonder if she wants to lose.

I slam the empty glass down harder than I need to, the sound sharp against the wood. The fire flares behind me, catching fresh fuel, dancing wild for a moment before settling back to its steady burn.

I breathe out, slow and tight, dragging a hand through my hair.

She’s in my blood now, and I don’t know how the fuck to get her out.

The fire hisses as a log shifts, sending sparks curling up into the chimney. I don’t look away. My drink sits untouched now, sweating into the grain of the wooden table. The burn in my chest has nothing to do with the whiskey anymore.

She shouldn’t matter this much.Eliseshouldn’t matter this much.

I told myself she was a tool—a necessity, nothing more. A pair of capable hands to keep Yuri alive long enough to get the truth out of him. A name. A betrayal. A target. That’s all I needed. That’s all she was ever meant to be.

Elise Emberly is all flame and fury wrapped in soft skin and a spine made of steel. She should’ve broken by now. Most do. The ones who don’t cry usually crack in other ways. They go quiet. Compliant. They learn the rules and obey.

She learned them. And chose not to follow a single one.

Her words still echo like glass beneath my boots.“At least I don’t need a gun to feel like a man.”

That line. That glare. The way she stood her ground even with my hand around her shirt and a weapon inches from her temple. I wanted her afraid. Hell, Iexpectedit. Wanted to see that defiance collapse. Instead, she stared at me like I was the one who ought to explain myself.

***

She’s sitting on the edge of the mattress when I open the door.

No flinching. No scrambling to her feet. Just… stillness. Her elbows rest on her knees, fingers laced, head slightly tilted like she’s been staring at the same knot in the wooden wall for hours and still hasn’t made peace with it.

I step inside.

She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t move.

“Miss me?” she mutters, voice dry as dust.

It shouldn’t land the way it does. Something in the quiet lilt of it—the rasp in her throat, the edge just under the sarcasm—grates under my skin like a splinter I can’t dig out.

“You’re taking a walk,” I say instead.

That gets her to look at me. Slow and unimpressed. “Excuse me?”

“Fresh air. You’ve been locked in here too long.”

Her brows lift. “Concerned I’ll get bored to death before you have the chance to kill me?”

I don’t answer. I just step aside and nod for her to follow.

She doesn’t move this time, either.

“Up,” I snap, more harshly than I intend. “Let’s go.”

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